Thursday 5th August. 9:15 p.m. A dear diary moment from today and 1973

The cherry pies were ooooohed over, then one was sliced carefully into delicate portions and placed upon dainty tea plates.

Over news about their chests, ankles, David Cameron's ghastly plans for tinkering with social housing, the price of heat pads and other medicinal type things we sipped our hot tea and broke the pie pastry.

After picking out the cardamon seeds from a decent chicken korma I beseeched my knobbled knees to behave then went out on a spending spree...
Although I hardly think roll on eye saviour stuff, a brown slightly sparkly retro top and tin of pineapple rings makes me rash with cash, I considered today's buys simple and essential. So there.

Mumsy however went mental with money, lashing out loads of lucre on H.P. Fruity Sauce, Neutrogena hand cream, fig rolls and elasticised bandage.

Darting in and out of shops reminded me of when mum and I darted in and out of shops in the 1970's. We did them good. We did them proper. Often ditching proper comfortable retail outlets for the stalls in Portobello Road market. Come hail, sun or snow we could always be found rummaging through the filth of the secondhand barrows, dawdling around the little bazaars looking for Indian style jewels and decadent posters. Then on the way home, pop into the bakers by the public lavatories to buy doughnuts for us and an apple turnover for dad. Happy days.

And in a way today was no different and that makes me feel a little queer. Over thirty years have passed and I'm still doing the same things. Shopping with mummy for glorious essential nonsense and eating cakes. Only nowadays I'm a little richer, a little lighter and lot more knobbled...

No pictures of my knees will appear on this blog not unless someone wants to be photographed mummifying them in surgical bandage.

And on that slightly pseudo sexual/odd ball note I'll say goodnight.

Goodnight.